


Mercy, I Pray Thee

by nowblossoming



Series: Gavin Reed Wants to Cum More Than He Wants to Die [4]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Priests, Cancer, Coping, I like a little SUBSTANCE with my porn thank u very much, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Character Dying, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sad in Part I
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-03-13 08:25:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18937150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowblossoming/pseuds/nowblossoming
Summary: The priest of a small town commits a sin, now a demon has been sent to make him pray the price.In a way nobody was expecting.





	1. Set

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't want to put it in the tags because I hate tags that bait a part of the story that hasn't occurred yet, so there will be p0rn and feeling exploration with ;) in the second part.

A quiet night, all things start in the minds of mortal men on a quiet night. Faux blue skies melt away in bursts of colors to show the true stars of the Creator’s eyes, watching, dutiful, from above. 

The creak of old wood, serving as the only alarm against plaintive holy men, the harsh breath of a guilty soul fester against the beating heart of the glowing warm alter. A bowl, of jade and gold accents, set out beneath the heavy oak door, carved with sweet faced angels and flowers growing new, fresh along the edges. The door shines in the flickering orange light of the man’s handheld candle, eyes can’t help but catch the gold envelope slot carved just above the basin.

Another string of guilt, like the scream of the antique organ behind on the church wall. Carved throughout the lifetime of 10 musicians, perfected and pieced with love and praise for their Creator. What they would say, to see the young priest now. The organ screams another note, it echoing on deaf ears for ages and ages until the note touches Heaven itself. How he wished, for the first time, that nobody would care to hear. 

The young priest crouches, his thick wooden cross attached to a thin leather necklace bumps against his chest, aching to draw his attentions, to sway his mind. It goes ignored. 

Gold, silver, paper. Cold, sickening, sacred. His fingers dig through the commissaries, he blames the shaking on the wind’s draft.

Another bill taken, another pocket weighed down. The welcome addition to the ball forming tight inside his throat, thoughts of how to punish for - this- play inside his head. A cut? A bruise? To set fire to himself? All he wants in pain, pain to purify, to make everything holy again. 

Weight, warmth, the priest recoils in a snap, buzzing inside his ears. Somebody- somebody touched him, who,  _ who _ ? Please not- not- 

Slow movements, not truly wanting to accept what has happened, has happened, and he turns around to see the source of the hand. 

Nothing. There is nothing behind him, and the moment he fully turns the touch has melted away down his arm, like somebody running their fingers along. The priest shivers, his confusion undertaken by the sheer relief swelling inside his chest. 

Taking all he needs, but nothing more. The priest finally straightens from the bowl, body swaying as sickness injects.

Another flash and fears reappear, electricity dancing along his spine. Something, whether it be a glow or a sign, appears from an archway. Blue, the light dancing along the delicate stain glass carved above the front doors, angels and cherubs reaching up to touch a sweet setting sky. 

A person, with a flashlight, lantern or other, it must be. The priest begins to rush toward the light, excuses run rampant inside his head, ways to escape the scrutiny of the situation. Not only would he be cast aside, he would become sacrilegious. Untouchable, forbidden to be spoken or sold goods, outcasted until the day he forces himself to leave the town, journey into the woods - never to be seen again. 

The priest turns the archway and his words catch in his throat, a soft noise escaping. There is nobody in the alcove beside the stair, only the entrance to the janitorial closet. The young man holds his arms to his chest, a cold chill running down his spine like the bittersweet touch of a forbidden lover. 

A soft murmur, then a flashlight beam explodes over the tall carved ceilings, bouncing shadows along the walls and over the jade bowl.

His heart jams itself upward inside his throat, sweltering heat welling inside his stomach and inflating like a hot candle taking wick. Absently his fingers find the weight of his cross, then release with another stress of guilt. 

“Sorry ‘bout all this, swear I left them in my pocket. I’ll be a second,” It’s the eldest priest, working beneath the diocesan bishop to plan the ceremonies and sermons that take place each day at the church, meaning he has his own office, just one door away from where the priest is hidden away. 

Must have left his room key. The young priest reasons, his lungs burn, fear overpowering the need for substantial breath.

“Yeah, yeah. Just go quick, it’s freezing down here at night,” The diocesan bishop replies, his footsteps creak on old wood, no fear of being caught outside his rooms. 

The same cannot be said for the young man, who can’t hear past the exploding static in his ears, he hadn’t even heard the steps, if the flash hadn’t arrived, he would have been caught. And that idea spells nothing but trouble, because if the flash had truly brought him to safety, then somebody was watching him. 

“Got ‘em, fell between the garbage can and the lining, Creator knows how they ended up there.” The old priest replies and a laugh rises between the two, their voices ringing without fear inside the high ceilings of the church. 

The young priest hides against the wall of the alcove at the sound of footsteps. Despite himself, a piece of jealousy pinches him at the men’s openness in such a space. The priest had once been able to walk free from his rooms at night, they all had, and then everything fell apart when the choir boy sang. His voice was sweet and deep, rumbling inside his chest and the priest had listened intently, his own cheek warm while each little rise and fall of song swam through his ears. Then the choir boy was found in the dead of the night in church, wrapped in the secure embrace of another man, and the priest never saw him again. 

Voices finally fade and the priest relaxes for the first time. He allows a loud intake of breath to rattle his chest and the sound dissipates not far from his lips.

Pockets heavy the priest retreats upstairs struggling to keep his footsteps quiet along the worn down wood. 

The diocesan bishop was right, the church was indeed freezing cold in the midst of this winter night, the upstairs moreso and the man found himself hating each step into a tundra eternity. Heat continues to burn inside of his pocket, fire threatening to consume him alive. 

△

Reverend Reed is a 34 year old man, reliant to God since his childhood, an experienced priest who long worked under his own Uncle in this same Church, quiet, prefers to be on his lonesome. His hair had once been shaved, but a sudden lack of trepidation lead to a grow out shagging in the middle of his ears, a splash of stubble following in its wake, the bags under his eyes are strictly not spoken of - for nobody asks the requisitions of their origins. Otherwise his face would hold a handsome caliber, square and symmetrical in the right places, a marred scar picked to meticulously to ever fully heal sits over the lower ways of the bridge of his nose, leading upward toward his eye before fading away.

Around him the world is cheerful, full of bellowing laughter and joyous shrieks that quake the human body in waves of happiness. 

If you are apart of the shrieks, that is. If you are standing toward the edge of the church changing room, a spare pantsuit thrown over your arms, that is another story entirely.

Gavin represses a yawn. Around him the men smack one another with there towels and suit jackets, whiskey and beer cluttered on every surface horizontal enough to hold. The groom looks sickly in the musk of this appersome occasion, pressed to the corner with a shaking handkerchief to his lips. 

Antics quickly grow tiresome, and Gavin wishes to have faked ill this morning rather than be stood as a flesh coat hanger. 

The room is stuffed beneath the floors of the church, carpet pink and fuzzy, walls wooden and lined all the way to the ceiling. The groom’s father laughs, takes a fresh intake of his cigar and puffs into the foggy air, the smoke soaking through the chunking vents toward the outside. 

Gavin readjusts his footing, head aching in a sharp cocktail of annoyance and pain. Clothes are thrown around the floors, each groomsmen in varying stages of undress while the time of the ceremony ticks ever closer. Gavin has long since given up telling them what to do after only being met with snickers and taunts. 

A bell rings from high above in the tower, marking the cycling to noon, and for a moment the men are stalled inside of their conversations - lost in the brass toll. 

Gavin, long since accustomed to the ringing tones, takes a moment to scan the group at large. His eyes catch on a flash of blue, somebody pulling on a gaudy indigo jacket, and he is drawn to the sight. 

In the corner is a man, face very different from those in the surrounding room, for he’s not smiling, lips slack and eyes burning brightly in a color Gavin could not hope to decipher from this far away. The black haired man is pressed to the corner of the room, away from the men surrounding and staring directly, unquestionably, at Gavin himself. 

A hard cut jaw leading into a dip in the middle of the chin. High cheekbones and a piercing gaze, so focused, in depth enough to send a shiver down anyone’s spine. 

The bells finally end then someone offhandedly chimes the minutes before the ceremony and the party becomes frantic. The jacket is finally ripped from Gavin’s grasp and finally he’s free to shove his way out of the claustrophobic room. 

When the priest turns around to survey the dressing party one last time, the dark haired man is nowhere to be found.

Must have went to the bathroom, Gavin supposes, or something. 

Upstairs the ceremony goes well enough, the guest don’t quite know when to quiet down and the groom stinks of illegalities on his stumbling race down the crimson lined aisle. The bride is blank faced on the walk down, her father’s arm wrapped tight within her own. It makes a selfish part of Gavin rejoice, glad he is barred from ever marrying as he is now. It makes him shudder to be tied to someone for the rest of his life, to put them under the same scrutiny he himself faces on a daily biase. 

The bride arrives at the altar, smile tight lipped, and they stand together as His Excellency,  diocesan bishop Fowler, reads from the scripture, voice soft yet demanding. 

His Excellency Fowler is a well known fixture inside of the church, the longest working and part of a hundred year lineage where at least one paternal member stood as priest for a time. People flock to him, his certain voice enough to convince them of their holiness, despite what they may have been before. Gavin remembers his own talks with the man, the little snippets he would listen into whilst following his Uncle into the chapel when sick from school. Fowler had put the sick boy in his office, where there was always a warm couch and a secret little TV to entertain between naps. 

Soon the wedding is over and the party cheers, many hurrying to move toward the reception hall halfway across town. 

Gavin conceals his yawn inside his shirt collar, cut off by a heavy hand descending on his shoulder. A blind swipe as his hand grips the wrist of the one that touched him, squeezing hard, he finally completes a full turn to see the eldest priest behind him. 

“Woah, calm down son, you get enough sleep last night?” Hank asks, smiling lightly and taking his hand back. His grey hair is long, hanging around his chin, currently pulled away for the ceremony, wrinkles run around his eyes and forehead with each depthen of expression on his face. The gap between his teeth is somewhat of a party favor, a little thing he uses to lighten a dark room, he collects water into his mouth before using his tongue to punch the water out through the crevice, spurting somewhere near to 5 feet each time. 

“Yeah, I- I don’t know,” Gavin forces a breathy chuckle, “Maybe I didn’t, I guess.” He shrugs and Hank moves to stand beside him.

“I get that, lost my fucking keys last night - Jeff was pissed.” Hank flinches, a small hiss escaping his mouth. “Damn- I mean- Dang, sorry Gav. Sometimes those just slip out.” 

Hank, while being one of the oldest priest, has not nearly been here as long as everyone else. At first Fowler refused to tell them why the man had showed up at the church doorstep, drunk and crying. Then a few of the guys in the dormitory found a few newspaper articles with Hank’s name. His only child dead, his wife lost to suicide, it’s all an awful display in the worst of humanity. Gavin always liked him, but learning that information, changed something in his heart, it made him question things he could have gone his whole life without questioning. Hank is here because he wanted to believe in something after the worst time in his life. So what is Gavin here for? 

“It’s alright, we all have our slip ups.” Gavin shrugs and is glad to see Hank relax at least. Gavin never slipped up, himself, his uncle would have never allowed it. He’s heard enough people speak those comforting words to be sure they would help the Hank to relax. “When does the Ramirez funeral start again?”

Hank scratches his beard, looking down at the ground. “In about half an hour, I think? Why?” 

“If we start at 3 we should be done around 4:30ish. Hopefully. I want to visit my sister tonight.” 

Hank nods along and follows Gavin through the tight library entrance. “Sounds fun, do me a favor and tell her I said hi.” 

“You say hi,” Gavin can’t help smile at the absurdity, “She doesn’t even know you, might think you’re trying to run up on her.” 

“Run up? You young people and your lingo, I don’t think I’ll ever understand.” Hank sighs and continues walking down the hall, where Gavin stops outside the closed office door. Inside the librarian is working at his desk, not bothering to look up at the door opening.

“Run up, like ya know,” he lowers his voice to prevent his schooling mate from overhearing the word, “Dating, trying to have sexual relations with. That sort of stuff.” He retrieves a worn, black fabric covered Bible from the top shelf, inside it is bookmarked in multiple red tabs for the choose sermons Fowler would like to go over during the service. Beside him Hank returns the white wedding Bible back to it’s purposeful shelf.

Once they leave the extra set of ears Hank scoffs at Gavin. “The kids these days are so sex hungry it makes my head spin, just let her know I said hi, please.” They head back down the main room of the church, the  diocesan bishop stood behind the podium in front of the altar, eating a fruit in between their wait.

“Father Reed, Father Anderson,” He nods to them both and outstretches a patient hand for his Bible.

“Your Excellency,” Gavin passes the book careful as to not crease the edges and takes his stance beside Hank along the edge of the altar.

The mortician comes in assisted by multiple people, each straining under the weight of the heavy scarlet coffin on their shoulders. 

Against his want Gavin can feel himself stiffen, funerals are still hard for him. The soft tune of song envelops him, holds his body in a sweet, forbidden embrace. Lost in his own past Gavin is brought back by a soft hand settling on his shoulder, Hank, noticing his stiffness and supplying Gavin with an easy reminder - I’m here. Easy to do, for someone who wasn’t there when everything went wrong. 

The funeral body comes in soon after the mortician does her final work on the corpse, giving them a soft youthful glow with powders and a relaxed posture in their final resting place. Gavin digs his nails into his palm, wishing it could break the skin so he could escape the bearing weight crashing around his shoulders. A pain akin to waves in a cold winter storm rise and destroy his body in the sweltering mass of memories long shoved deep down, his ears are submerged, unable to take in any sound except the constant crashing of the waves. 

Hank’s fingers readjust on his shoulders, concerned blue eyes locking with Gavin’s.

Gavin looks away, staring at the floor as Fowler reads the scripture from his Bible, the sound of sadness bearing down on the room heavier and heavier. 

What Gavin had lost, the moment that music had finally been stripped from his life, and there is no escape from the barrage of memories. 

To lose a lover to the sands of time, only to be quelled in the fading memories of feelings long past. 

Soft hands turn to bone, haunt his dreams. 

Nobody attended his funeral, not even Gavin, he’d watched from up there. His burning eyes found the spot on instinct, up high inside the chapel, a small balcony between two stories, right above the pews as to not be noticed by attendees, just in the right spot to only see the altar and the casket.

As beautiful as he had been that first day, lips still flushed a soft fuchsia, hair black and curled against his temples, the things that made him not beautiful were the things he had lost along the way, the pale skin missing the sweet sun kissed heat they’d once acquired, the small smile filled with so much belief in a better world. 

Belief that had killed him, and everything that made Gavin want to exist up until this point. 

Gavin makes a mistake, there, at the ceremony, Fowler apologizing and shaking hands, the people beginning to stand, wondering exactly what one does after the funeral of loved ones, where they go now, how to live past the grief. Gavin makes a mistake in himself, his breathing skips, one intake of air cutting itself in half from the swollen rock inside of his throat. 

Hank’s hand squeezes his shoulder tight, as if one touch could stop every emotion bustling inside of Gavin’s broken head. 

A flash of blue, coming from the stained glass in the window, the sun shining down a single light on Gavin himself, blinding him for a few seconds. 

“Father Reed? I require your assistance, if you would, it seems my vehicle has gotten stuck inside a wetted patch of dirt outside.” Gavin opens his eyes, not even realizing they were closed in the first place, and cocks his head upward. 

It’s that man, the man from the wedding, his eyes are blazing bright blue, jaw hard with a line cutting the middle of the chin. A black ringlet has drooped over his forehead from his otherwise quaffed bangs. He is still wearing his indigo jacket, which add to the vibrance of his eyes. 

“Yes, of course he can help. I’ll cover with the clean up and planning, Reverend, you please assist Mr-?” Hank is quick to jump in, nearly pushing Gavin toward his only way out of the burdened room. 

“Niles, I go by Niles,” The man smiles and accepts Hank’s firm handshake. “Now about my car, it is out front, I tried to get around another to park in a safe spot, but with all the rain this week I found myself caught in the mud, I tried to get out a few times and- well.” Niles gestures down to his outside, mud painting his pants and white undershirt, dried in most spots. 

Hank laughs, “I’ve felt that before, good luck you two.” He presses a hand to Gavin back, pushing him toward Niles and gesturing them both to leave.

Blank and still reeling Gavin is quick to follow, desperate to escape the crippling scent of flowers and death that fill up his nose and cut off his air supply. 

Once outside Gavin takes an immediate deep breath of the moist air outside and a spray of mist wets his face. An instant wave of gratefulness follows, Gavin stumbling down the marble staircase unto the brick parking place below, a single pathway leading further down the flower bridled lawn into the bustling city all around them.

He sighs out, the change of scene assisting him in ripping his mind away from the memories that swamp inside of his heart. “Alright, now where is yo-” He turns, finding the oak doors void of persons. Confusion follows and consumes the priest, Gavin moves to look around the many carriages parked around him in the place. Nothing, a gust of wind disrupts Gavin’s carefully tucked undershirt, and the sun shines on the empty streets, it’s all just Gavin and the machines. 

The man, it hits Gavin now, and he settles on the stair to righten himself from the spinning of his head. He saw that man before, today, downstairs inside the basement, he was the only one not dressed as a groomsmen or in a suit. Then he left, and he had been wearing the same outfit when Gavin saw him again today. And that makes sense, Gavin, don’t be stupid, he berates and presses his fingers to his forehead. The guy must be going through a bad day already, a wedding immediately followed by a funeral. 

That doesn’t explain why he disappeared. Gavin leans forward, elbows on his knees, and cranes his neck over the muted green grass. Nothing, no car stuck in the mud everywhere, like the thing, and on top of that the man, never existed in the first place. 

But he was real, Gavin was certain, had felt their skin touch, could tell you every little detail about his face from memory, he had seen him before, even had his name. Niles. A schizophrenic brain couldn’t make up names, could it?

A prank, the last possible option is a prank, somebody come along to mess with the priest so he can get egged by the conspiring college or high school kids. Gavin looks around anxiously, searching for those little boys so well known for their angry outbursts at the priest in town. Upon finding nobody Gavin is crushed in another sense of dread, must have been a prank. All a prank. 

“Gav, you ‘kay out here?” The door creaks, heavy oak on gentle worn hinges, and slams shut following a hard gust of wind encapsulating the stair. 

It’s Hank, and he settles beside Gavin on the staircase with a quiet groan. “Was worrying ‘bout you out here, kid, wondered if maybe you needed a little company.” He retrieves a wrapped package sweet from the pockets of his black waist length trench coat, extending the offering to his younger counterpart. 

Gavin takes and peels the melting sugar off the package edge. “Worrying about what? Didn’t think I could move a car all by myself?” He jokes and pops a torn piece from the treat into his mouth. 

The sweetness is cut bitter in surprise as Hank adjusts his body to face half him, half the buildings stretched in front of them. “What car? Didn’t know you even knew how to drive squirt.”

What little enjoyment Gavin was able to tear from his treat is tossed aside in favor of the confusion that overwhelms his head. Hank doesn’t remember, Hank had asked Niles damn name, had spoken to him the most. Course, Gavin just can’t come out and say that, the man would think he was a lunatic, would report it to the diocesan bishop and get Gavin locked away in his rooms again. 

“I don’t, I- uh-” Gavin struggles to think up a lie, in the end just fizzling out into uncertainty of how to rectify. 

Hank lets the silence between them oscillate, though not unnaturally cold, rather they move between phases of somebody's mouth parting, an idea of want to express right at the tips of their tongues, only to grow fearful and remorse of even thinking to be legible in the first place. Gavin finishes his sweet in the meantime, listening to the far between sounds of cars rumbling against the brick, making their ways home in the late fall afternoon, grey clouds swirling above with equal parts rain and rage. 

“Funerals have always been, hardest, for me since I came here.” Hank cuts the air and injects a tension so palpable Gavin could brace his teeth through it. They both stand at the ends of their own cliffs, uncertainty and adrenaline pumping through their veins as the want to saw is overcome by the fear of never being able to stay quiet afterward.

The diocesan bishop had spoken of Hank’s past only once to his own deacons, walking them back to their respected lower levels dorms on a storming night. Hank had been making noises from his room, the echoes of a haunted man following right behind your every step throughout the hall. Tears, desperation, hopes for a change that will never, ever come even in the wildest of hopes. 

“I lost my son, I know you guys are curious about the entire situation, why I’m so damn- darn old. Your the only one I trust, to know the truth and not turn me into a walking charity case.” Hank smiles softly, sadness reverberates inside the depths of light colored eyes. Eyes like that mans, like Niles’s.

Gavin is lightened at the confession, and his heart beats powerful in his hands to do something to express his nature of the situation. “Thank you, Hank. I appreciate the sentiment, truly.” A part of him is afraid, shaking in fear, wondering if for this confession he will be forced to contrive the source of his own plights. 

“He was 5, well, just turned 6, but his birthday had only been a few days ago. We went out to return some shit present his grandmother bought, can’t even remember what it was, now, all I can remember is the big smile on his face while he decided what he was going to get from the store. Then I looked down for half a second to change the radio station, then the truck hit us. His side. Never even had a chance to honk the damn horn.” Hank’s throat constricts, words struggling to make themselves through his airway while the story of his greatest regret is given to the cool air of an uncaring world. Rain begins to fall on the both of them, not yet great, just enough to be felt on the tip of a nose of back of a hand. “Hard not to blame myself, the truck driver was fine, sober, fully rested, paying his utmost attention, but I blew the light and there was nowhere he could have gone but straight, or risk hurting someone else. Impossible, not to blame yourself for that. Then his mom-” Hank chokes, shaking hard with his head buried between his knees. 

Gavin is scared, reaching out a hand to help. It dawns on him, fingers feeling the heat of Hank’s back, that Gavin does not know how to help in a situation like this. He’s never been around other people and their struggles, didn’t know what Hank needed, or what he wanted. Why would you talk about something that makes you sad? When you can put it deep in your heart and try your best to become someone else.

In the end Gavin places his hand back on his thigh and tries to think of something else to say. “When I was a Deacon, I had a friend, a local choir boy, he went to the nearby university, Sir Juliens De La Grasse. He sang here every Sunday, and sometimes came in for early practices when he had the time. We talked, developed a close friendship, I trusted him with my life, and then-” 

Too much, you’ve said too much, idiot. Do you want to die?

“Then he died, and life has been so- so-” Gavin can feel the tears rise and finally realizes for the very first time, he never once said this to anybody else, never even said he had known the poor young man, who squandered his talents and his youths for what? For nothing. 

“Bleak?” Hank supplies and rubs his eyes, refusing to let the tears fall down from his cheeks. He presses a hand back to Gavin’s shoulder, and the young priest welcomes it, welcomes that single passing moment of kindness between them both. 

“Yeah, everything has been so blank, and empty. And I think, I won’t allow anything happy to sneak into the cracks, because if I’m happy, it’s just another time he never will get the chance to be,” The rain has picked up, followed by a wind that blows the droplets under the awning unto the two holy men. Hank shivers and pulls his coat tight over his chest with one hand. 

Hank is quiet, letting the moment between them, this glass moment of solidarity, fester life inside of their hearts. “My wife killed herself not long after Cole, my boy. Then I was alone, no family, no parent, nobody but me, me and whiskey. I tried to kill myself a hundred times and I just kept living. Makes a man dare to think, maybe, maybe I was meant to last for a reason. Now, that might just be the grapplings of a old man drowned a thousand times in his griefs but, it’s kept me alive.”

Gavin nods, trying his best not to think too hard on the situation, not to admit to himself what the advice wants him to do. Hank wants him to see a silver lining, a silver lining to the pain of his choir boy, to the endless chilling nightmare of gazing upon his once warm face kissing the dirts and stones six feet underground.

“You are alive for a reason, Gavin, I’m living proof of that, and one day, when you learn to love what you survived to be, your choir boy will be smiling down upon you.” Hank pulls Gavin into an awkward hug, both barely facing one another yet now pressed together. Gavin finds his nose pushed into the man’s shoulder, a small blessing he cannot help be grateful for, for the pose hides the wetness brightening his irises. 

All Gavin can imagine of his choir boy smiling is that of a corpse, greenly skin, eyes sunken, worms sticking from the gaps between once perfect straight teeth. It hurts. 

After the hug has long ended Hank assures Gavin inside and away from those leaving the funeral house, up the stairs so Gavin may grab the satchel he’s prepared for the rest of the evening with his sister.

A water bottle, candies, spare clothing in case of vomiting, a spare jacket, and the money. Gavin shivers, the weight of the stolen tithe weighs him down tenfold along the way downstairs. Guilt is high, stomping each step through the empty wooden halls, what he had done, betrayed Hank, the Diocesan Bishop, his follow Pastors and Deacons. Even his own Creator, whose gaze Gavin can feel even now, burning holes of pain deep into his back. 

There was a chance, Gavin feels it in his stomach, feet at the sill of the door, where the back exit leads into the quiet town. He could turn back now, turn himself into Fowler, be beaten for his crime, and never have to live with the bauble in his throat and stomach ever again. Gavin bites his lip hard, drawing blood to draw clarities, and forces that final step over the steel.

Outside the town is quiet in this dwindling time of day, brick streets and sidewalks, candlelit lamps high in the air, shimmering glass buildings forcing through the blanket of colors in the sunset. Gavin moves swiftly, nodding at the few who recognize his face, his scar, and others that cross his path. Inside his shirt the rosary brushes his chest, each touch restarting that fire of fear that shakes his fingers and roots his legs.

Gavin is halfway to the hospital, rain pouring down on the hood covering his gelled hair, when a display in the window catches his eye for a fraction of a moment. A spinning carousel in the display, red, yellows, and pinks streamers hung in the window to catch the attentions of children and parents alike. Smiling clowns, carousels swinging around their soft pace, music bleeding muffled through thick glass, Gavin’s eyes catch something near the bottom of the display, and his heart leaps. Memories are scrunched up at the sight of the item, and Gavin hurries himself inside the old store, rubbing his hands together in attempts at warmth. 

Inside the shop is warmth, permeating the cool air that sunk inside of Gavin’s clothing and smoothing the goosebumps from his risen skin. 

The shop is bright inside, planes and hot air balloons hanging down from the triangle arched wooded ceiling. Lanterns are stuffed along bright blue shelving units that line the rectangular room. 

Gavin looks around and sights the doll in a short stall by the window, square wooden boxes on a rickety plastic table covered in a sheet the same color as the night sky. He picks up the present gently, a smile playing on his lips as he carefully holds it to his chest and walks to the counter. 

A coincidence, his mind supplies before the gravitas of the situation really sets into his weary bones. A weird coincidence for the two of them. It’s happened to Gavin before, multiple times, seeing somebody at a funeral, wedding or service, and then running into them again at a work day is downright common. 

So why does he feel so sick as his eyes fall on a blue apron, dark black hair. 

“Father, how may I assist you?” The man, Niles, Gavin knows his name now. 

“I- uh- just want to buy this,” Gavin places the item gently on the counter and continues to stare at the wood rather than Niles’s face. Curiosity is eating away at him, so many questions near bursting as they stand in the empty shop. “Did you ever get your car out of the mud?” He asks and forces it to meet the man who had saved him previous.

Niles raises an eyebrow and types into the gold manual register, “My car? I’m sorry sir, I don’t own any car. Live upstairs, actually, for the time being,” He gestures upward. 

A cold feeling spreads through Gavin, one of confusion and fear as questions he didn’t think he’d ever be festering begin to bubble in the cauldron of his mind. A stalker? A stalker who has a job at the place you conveniently walked inside of? It doesn’t make any sense, but Gavin can’t think of anything that does make sense. 

And the other thoughts are so, supernaturally, and far out, there is no way he’s correct about what they mean. 

“Have you been by the church lately?” Gavin bursts out needing an answer for these strange occurrences that have been happening all day. Niles looks confused, almost afraid at the velocity Gavin had thrown the words at him. “I mean, uh, the wedding, today. Beautiful ceremony,” Gavin attempts to save at least a little bit of face, to not look entirely insane.

Niles smiles and loses the tightness in his shoulders while he bags the item up with gentle hands. “Can’t say I have, but it is a nice day for a wedding, I’ll admit. That’ll be 5 coins, please.” 

“Uh, yes, of course,” Gavin roots around in his pockets for his coin purse. On his back, the satchel, or more importantly what’s inside, seems to burn. The money, Gavin forgot in the weird run in with the mysterious stranger, the money he’d taken from the bowl last night.

You could use it, a voice whispers in the back of his head, tone so different from any other he’s heard before. It causes Gavin to tense all over, he wants to throw up, the entire world falling hard on his shoulders. 

He could, he has plenty of cash, and he was going to use what he’d scrounge together in his coin purse for dinner tonight rather than the bread and soup they dine on every night in the church. Gavin had been looking forward to it, too. The waitress, Tina had promised him two meals for the price of one so he’d have something to eat later on top of it. 

Now he isn’t going to have the money for that small luxury, and not buying the gift for his sister would be taking away a small happiness from her life, so he can’t just walk out. 

He could take the money, he’d already stolen it, what would it do now to splurge a little. 

“Gavin?” Niles asks and presses the bag to the counter. “Are you alright, sir?”

“Yes, I’m fine, fine, just needed a moment to think,” He forces a smile onto his lips. 

No, no using the money. Gavin is not going to break the minimal rules he set for his final resort. The money is to be only used for supporting his sister, nothing more, he can’t break the promise he made himself and the promise he gave to his Creator. 

His own small pleasures are not the matter at hand. 

Gavin empties his coins on the counter, counting off his last bills and golds to hand the mysterious man. 

“Thank you,” He takes the bills, their hands brushing for half a second, sending a zinc up Gavin’s palm. 

“Yeah,” Gavin smiles and pushes his way out the shop door and back into the freezing, raining streets outside, holding the bag beneath his jacket to keep dry.

The rain has gotten worse during his time in the store, and Gavin finds himself without an umbrella as he trudges through the mess and through the infirmary doors. Though every bump on the present against his back does some to heighten his mood. 

A doctor comes up to Gavin as he exits the visitors section. The medical professional is one of the frequenters of the hospital, balding with a section of salt and pepper hair clinging to the back of his head, dark eyes contrasting his pale complexion. In his hands is a clipboard, a look on his face that does an instant dowsing to any happiness Gavin may have once felt. 

“Father Reed, may we speak somewhere private?” The physician asks. 

Gavin nods, face blank, hands and fingers overpowered by an epic tingling that reaches to his toes, numbness finds its groove in Gavin’s heart, everything awful that can happen is thrown into his head. 

He follows Dr. Feristach, feeling as if he’s staring down at his own body while the panic grows generally worse and worse the further they go without speaking. His mind runs wild, and the fear is crippling in its intensity. 

Gavin is led into a private, carpeted tan room with a single wooden table pushed flush to the wall, a chair on either side for them to speak. Gavin takes his seat, waiting for the doctor to fiddle with the broken lock, staring at the many posters thrown up on the other side of the room, cups hanging down with brochures stuffed inside. He stiffens up, eyes falling on a bright yellow and red sign, ‘What to Expect, and how to Move on.’ 

Oh Creator no, please, please no. Gavin has already lost so much, if he lost her now.

“I have money,” Gavin pipes up from his chair, refusing to make eye contact as he pulls his back off of his shoulders. “For whatever you’re thinking, I have the money to pay now.” He drops the wrinkled bills on the table and counts it all off. Across from him the doctor takes a seat, angling his clipboard away from Gavin’s prying, desperate eyes. 

Gavin lays out the bills by their sums, hundreds, tens, and dollars strung out on the jade cushioned plastic table beneath them, “$556. For anything, anything at all. Take it, please.” He pushes the bills, his doctor does not move. 

“Father Reed, I-”

“Take them,” Gavin cuts him off, stresses, shoves the bills into Dr. Feristach’s lap with burning wet fire behind his eyes. 

“It is not that simple, sir. Her condition is worse and I-”

“Just take the fucking money,” Gavin calls out, desperation bleeding from his heart and his brain, the swear vibrates in the room around them. Gavin swore, his eyes widen, memories of a cursed man appearing from behind. 

“Your sister is worse, she has a month left, I am sorry Father Reed. But no money in the world can fix it. I would suggest you get your plans in order. My condolences to you and your family.” Dr. Feristach’s voice is harsh and cold, fed up with Gavin’s attitude. He stands from his chair and moves away as the bills float to the dirty floor. 

Shell shocked, Gavin can barely move let alone force breath to leave or enter his pitiful lungs. He’d stolen, robbed money from his church and his friends, and it meant nothing. Now Gavin was doomed to lose the very last thing he has, the only thing that has been keeping him going until this point. Alone in the world, like Anderson, Gavin knows something, deep inside of himself like a secret, he is not as strong as the old priest, and when his sister dies, Gavin is going over a bridge rather than live an unhappy life alone.

“The cancer spread into her lungs, she only has a month, maybe more if we pray for a miracle. My condolences, Father Reed. All we can do now is make her comfortable, I have a variety of contacts for funeral services and amenities. I am so sorry,” The doctor moves to the door, retrieving a pamphlet and holding it out for Gavin to take. “She is being moved to the hospice ward tonight, her new room will be 246A.”

Gavin takes the pamphlet and holds himself steady, back straight, hands on his knees exactly like he’d been taught all those years ago. With blank, burning eyes, he reads the simple Arial title. ‘How to Move on.’

With one flourish of both powerful anger and perturb, Gavin throws the pamphlet to the floor and collects the money, slamming it all deep down inside of his book bag. It’s not fair, not fair at all. For somebody who has lost everything to lose even more, why couldn’t it have been anyone else? Somebody deserving? Somebody who’s never lost anything? Who’s had the joy of feeling the rain on their face and living a full life? Why did his sister have to suffer for several years straight, in a bed, wasting her life away without any question of why?

Why would any God do this?

Gavin’s head shoots up at the thought, staring at the bleak tan walls in horror at the thought. Without thinking his hand flies and slaps himself hard in the face, like a bell the pain reverberates and pulses over his cheek. 

  
I will not stand for that kind of thought in my house, Gavin. 

With a sore body and a heart torn straight in half, Gavin forces himself to his feet, digs the pamphlet harder into the carpet with his toes, and leaves it on the floor for somebody else to come across. He won’t need it, he won’t move on, he’ll be long dead by then. 

‘Mercy Reed’ is written on a whiteboard above the numbers for the room, Gavin can peak past the curtain to see her inside, lying on her side with a blanket tossed over her shoulders. Sickness grows inside of his throat, crawling it’s way upward. 

Have they told her? Or would it be Gavin’s responsibility to tell the last person he loves that her death is inevitable, and fast. 

The door creaks open and Mercy turns her head, short soft curls of brown hair stick to her face from a layer of sweat. Her arm is outstretched, IV placed securely, one tube is placed beneath her nose, feeding an extra bit of air into her weary lungs. She looks, so tired, more so than she was the last time she talked, she looks as if somebody had come and ripped the tan shine from her skin, the light from her eyes, the fat from his cheeks and jaw. Gaunt, she already looks dead. 

Gavin is blinded by a shimmer of tears inside of his eyes, blinding him temporarily as he gazes down at her body. 

Mercy turns, revealing another tube locked into a port inside of her collarbone and connecting to a bag of chemotherapy drug that constantly clicks as more is injected into the body. She outstretches two thin arms, veins prominent on the inner skin of each, “Gavy,” She smiles, face shaking at the force of it. 

“Mer.” Gavin crumbles, placing one knee on the bed and accepting the hug she pulls him into. It’s scary, to hug somebody in that condition, and the frailness of her body in his arms makes everything so much more real than it had any right to be. Distinctly he feels the press of a tube against his neck and tries to lean away, to not hurt her more than the world already has. But she pulls him back in, shaking slightly with the strain, and buries her bony face into his broad shoulders. 

“They told me this morning, wanted me to tell you but I-” Her high pitched, sweet voice skips like a broken record, “I don’t think I could, Gavy.”

“I wouldn’t have been able to either,” Gavin pulls away from the hug, settling near the end of the bed as not to disrupt the wiring and placing his bag gently in his lap. “I got you a present.” The idea seems so bland now, what had brought him a spare moment of happiness now serves as a sickening twist of fate, instead of something to lift her spirits, he’s giving her something to place in her casket beside her. 

Gavin shudders, the ball in his throat making it hard to retell the story of how he found the toy as he unwraps the plastic ensnaring it carefully. He retrieves the doll from the confines, her eyes a shimmering black bead, hair blond with a red mary jane dress, the entirety of her is felt and slumps in Gavin’s hand as he outstretches it. 

Mercy immediately perks up and attempts to move herself to a sitting position only to slip, head falling back against the pillow with a thunk.

Gavin jerks toward her, panic blinding him as a single thought floats through his head - this is it. He grabs her shoulders, holding them tight while the rest of his body stays poised, crushed by the idea that he has no idea  _ what to do _ or how to help. 

A moment passes and Mercy opens her eyes, looking sheepish as she shoves Gavin’s hands off of her. “I’m fine, Gavy, I can get up myself at least.” Gavin leans back, allowing himself to relax slightly with a head spinning with guilt. He hadn’t done a damn thing, couldn’t console his sister in what could have been his final moments. 

He is torn from his memory by a hand touching his face and pushes soft bits of hair out from his forehead. “Gavy, don’t make that face. Show me the damn doll.”

“Shouldn’t swear.” Gavin murmurs and passes over the doll, he vaguely gestures the coldness of his sister’s hands and decides to get her another blanket from the nurses. 

Mercy laughs softly and presses the dolls soft skin to her cheek. “You sound like Uncle.” 

Gavin bristles at that, memories of his long dead relative play inside of his head. His sister kicks him in the side and the blunt pain brings him back to the reality for a moment. “Quit zoning out on me, I want to appreciate you while you’re here. Thank you for the gift, I can’t believe you remembered her-” Tears brim in Mercy’s eyes, running the tangles out of the dolls string hair. “Guess I wasn’t as good as hiding it after all, if both you and Uncle ended up finding it.” 

“When he threw her away, I hated him so much, and when he died I felt- relief. Now I’m terrified of seeing him, running into him on the other side. What will I say? Can I explain why when I cried, it wasn’t because I was sad, it was because I felt I needed to, to fit in,” His sister tucks the doll beneath her chin and closes her eyes to allow herself the small satisfaction of feeling the soft hair. Gavin is glad, to bring her at least a bit more comfort than she had before. 

Gavin let's the moment fester between them. “I never knew you hated him so much.” He whispers, looking into her soft grey eyes, the same as his own. 

“I didn’t hate him, I hated how he treated you, and how you never let yourself see behind the golden curtain.” Mercy sighs and Gavin assists in setting up a pillow for her, allowing her to lean back. 

Restless and mind full of thoughts, Gavin gets up and paces around the room, retrieving a few of his sisters things scattered about and placing them inside of her bag. Used to be her overnight bag, something she used maybe once every half year, now it’s a permanent residence of the hospital room. She’ll need help carrying it, Gavin should skip the wedding ceremony he has to oversee tomorrow, help make sure her move is smooth and she doesn’t feel any discomfort. 

So many things he thought he should do, but never had the courage to actually do. And now here, faced with the end, he wants to stuff years of being there, of showing up, into the little month they have next. 

He doesn’t want to see his sister thirty more times, he wants to see her everyday for the rest of his life. 

But some of us can never that lucky. 

So much, so much he should have told her. 

Gavin’s hand freezes over a water bottle and a tear falls free from his eye, slipping down his cheek. Never once had he ever told her of the choir boy, she never even knew he existed. 

Gavin should tell her what he felt, how the choir boy made him feel, how- they- made him feel. How he still feels. Gavin feels sick, even the idea is throwing him off of his feet, slamming him into the ground with a monstrous intensity. He can’t tell, not now, not when she’s dying. Gavin can’t disappoint her with something that isn’t even real before she dies. He’s not like that, anyway so why fixate on it? 

“I’m excited to see our parents, on the other side, I’ve been planning what I’m going to say to them, about growing up, about me, about you. I’m almost excited for that part.” Mercy reaches out a hand and Gavin lets himself be led back to sitting on the bed. His sister looks tired, like each word, each smile, weights on her more and more. “What I’m not excited for, is to leave you, so please, promise me a few things, for after I’m gone.” 

Cold water injected into Gavin, spreading and piercing his heart in a permanent frozen blaze that forces a shudder over his body. Take it from his sister to know his plans the exact moment she leaves this world. “I’m all ears, Mer.”

Her eyes shine, brightness shimmering, her face contorts in a sad, shaking smile. “When I’m gone-” Her voice breaks, like it’s the first time she’s said it out loud, and it probably is, with this new deadline bearing down on their souls. “I want you to be happy, please, try, even though it is going to hurt, I want you to live a life you know I’d be proud of you for. Now that I am with you, watching every stupid thing you do, and the not so stupid things, far in between as they will be.” She laughs, drawing a soft whine from Gavin’s throat as his desperate attempts to hold his tears breaks free.

“I don’t think, I can, Mer.” He forces past gritted teeth. God, he’s never been happy, ever, forced into a career to achieve the gratifications of his aloof uncle, “You’re all I have left, the only thing I care about.” 

Mercy tilts her head to force eye contact with her brother, two thin hands grip his shoulders tight as they can. “Gavin Reed, you promise me, here and now, that when I die, and you find yourself unhappy, you do something about it. You’re an adult, we are free from Uncle, you finally have a chance to do whatever you want to do, instead of what you think you have too. You are free to find your own happiness, wherever it may be. Promise me, that when I’m gone, and you don’t feel like living, you will do your best to find out a reason to keep going.” 

Tears are moving too fast for Gavin to hold back with a hand, his throat hurts in attempts to hold down all the emotion threatening to explode out from him. In his sister’s eyes are tears, desperate tears of somebody who can date the exact time she has left, it makes him want to throw up. Gavin, sobbing while his sister is left to plead him to live the life he’s been gifted to have left. 

“I will try. I swear to you, I’ll try.” Gavin presses one his hands over hers and feels the bone beneath the pale layer of skin. Mercy nods. 

“That’s all I can ever ask of you. You promise to try, and that’s enough.” Mercy smiles and leans in, pressing her head to Gavin’s shoulder for a soft moment. The doll settles between them, it’s black eyes staring upward at their tight embrace. 

Gavin holds her, holds her until the tears finally subside enough to not be embarrassing, to map the way her head presses gently to his collarbone, her hair brushing up against his neck. The reality that one day, Gavin will never feel her warmth again makes him want to scream until he renders himself mute. 

Mercy pulls back and beside them a soft beeping comes from the array of wooden and metal machines. “Visiting hours are almost up, you’re going to keep me from sleeping, Gav.”

Gavin laughs and pulls his satchel over his shoulders. A question lingers in his mind, pulsing against his brain in a crescendo reaching new highs with each passing second. It’s something he probably shouldn’t say, but, he’s never going to get the chance too if he doesn’t now. 

“Mer?” He asks and draws her away from the half empty tray she’s been picking off of in the meantime. She turns and beckons him to continue. Uncle, it’s a bad topic between them, Gavin harboring what respect he could for his first teacher as a deacon, her hating what the emotionless man had molded her brother into. At least that he can understand, but he just can’t make himself hate the old man. He’s been dead for years and sometimes, Gavin can swear he can hear his voice, berating his moves, telling him what to do to be a better priest. If Gavin is a better priest, would that make him a better person of himself? He wants to believe that people drawn to their deaths have all the answers, that what the media tells us, books and radio shows, all presenting the idea that somebody facing the ultimate doom are somehow smarter, somehow all knowing in a way they just aren’t. Gavin doesn’t know if his Uncle every truly loved him like Gavin did, and a crippling doubt follows the very idea. Mercy would say no, in the kind, sympathetic way she does, she would have been a good nun, much more understanding than Gavin has ever been. In the end, he does not ask, afraid that in the end, he was always hated by the man he would follow to the ends of the Earth. His cheek throbs, the slap from earlier dancing to the forefront of his mind. 

“Hank wanted me to tell you, he says hi.” Gavin smiles and his sister laughs unexpectedly. 

“Don’t think I’ve ever met a Hank before, he your new best friend? Should I be worried?” She asks and leans against the pile of pillows supporting her back and head.

“Just a friend from work, total stick in the mud, couldn’t top you if he wanted too.”

  
Mercy smiles with her lips shut tight. “I’d like to meet him, someday.” 

Gavin doesn’t know what to say regarding that ‘someday’ it brings up a hundred hidden emotions that make his chest feel like a thundering tornado. Someday, Mercy could die any day now, 30 days is just a ballpark number, she could be gone tomorrow. “Okay.” He forces out, voice breathy and strained. 

“Okay.” She answers. “Goodbye, Gavin, I love you,”

Gavin should say it, he should, the words get caught in his throat, hand clutching the doorknob hard enough to dent the thin metal. Gavin should say it. “Goodbye Mer, I’ll be back soon as I can.”

Then he’s out the door without another word passed into the thick air melded between them. 

On the way home Gavin feels, awful, every horror story he’s been cooking up in his head ever since that first tumor was found in coming true. A part of Gavin always knew the end would come, that once that first word is said a death sentence is to be expected. Now the end is here and Gavin is faced with the never ending scroll of things he should have said, what he could have done, now lost in the short timeframe they have left. 

Why didn’t you tell her you love her? Idiot, why don’t you ever tell her anything. 

She loves me, but Gavin truly does not know how much about him she’s willing to love. If she knew the truth, Gavin may never see her again. 

You failed her, you fail her all the time. More so than you fail yourself.

That voice, Gavin knows his Uncle anywhere, the man who raised him, taught him everything he knows about the Creator himself and how to serve his existence. Once upon a time Gavin had wanted - something - but it’s been so long he doesn’t remember what wanting even feels like, what caring about anything other than what he is told to care about feels like. 

The last time Gavin cared, somebody was killed, and Gavin was punished for his stupid actions. 

Now, the money. What is he going to do with all that money? Over the years they’ve been saving up money to fix the leak in the church roof, now Gavin’s torn money that would have went to good use and he has no explanation as to why. His sister is going to die, and stealing from his friends, his church, his own Creator, in the end meant absolutely nothing.

Dirty money, Gavin feels sick, all that guilt weighing down his ankles, drowning him deeper into the thick waves. His back is weighed down, pulling him toward the ground harder and harder. 

Gavin passes an alley and his eyes settle on a sharp lined shadow near the end of the dirt passageway. He has to get it off him, now, the idea of it sending itches across his skin. Gavin rushes for the dumpster, throwing the lid open with a flourish and biting his lip hard, the steel dumpster echoes with the sound of his backpack making frantic contact. 

After that Gavin races from the alley, walking slow once his feet hit brick is attempts to look somewhat nonchalant. The street has grown more illuminate as the sun fell beneath the curve. 

He swears, from the corner of his eye over the heightened brick walls of the shop, a flash, a single flare of light birthed and slept within milliseconds of one another. Gavin bristles immediately, pushing his own steps faster down the streets, having learned that symbol means, something, something Gavin doesn’t want to face now. Or ever. 

The church has been sucked of all colors as night takes over the skies. Black, greys, and whites bear down on Gavin, crawling into the sky in angry arches above his head. 

He moves into the world lacking of color, sound, light, happiness, into a world he has resigned himself into - better than dreaming of a future one can only put into the art installations, never able to truly touch and breath. 

The church is nearing empty by the time he has returned, lights off entirely with only the dim light of Hank’s office shining from the place where the door does not touch the floor.

Gavin is drawn to the light, shaken from the overwhelming emotions that have turned him on his back and exposed his belly to the beast tonight. He just needs the soft voice of somebody that reminds him the world is fine, that everything is not falling apart with each rotation of the Earth around him. 

With a soft knock Gavin pushes the door open before being given an answer and peers inside where Hank is sat at his desk facing the entrance, head hunched over a thick book before him. 

“What’s up, Jeff? I told you I need to get everything set up for- Gavin,” Hank finally peers up through his small reading glasses, quill stilling. 

“She said hi, and that she would like to meet you,” Talking about her is making Gavin’s heart squeeze. Who knows the next time he’ll talk to Hank about her? The man is probably going to be planning her funeral once she passes on. The thought is like a spike through Gavin’s heart, ripping all the air from his body in one fell swoop. He won’t cry in front of Hank, he just won’t.

“Tell her I would like that, we can get dinner sometime, you like that one place, the barbecue one right? We’ll go there.” Hank smiles and reaches over to grab a planner from his desk drawer. 

Another pit to add to Gavin’s stomach, and his throat begins to hurt from the emotion hidden away inside of himself. His fingers grip the edges of the door hard, the truth a double sided arrow that once said, would kill them both. “She’s worse, doctor gave her a month.” Good, speak evenly. “They’re taking her into hospice,” Stupid Reed, you just had to get a voice crack in there. 

And Hank looks sad, and Gavin hates himself for being the cause of that sadness. Doesn’t deserve the pity - he’s not the one dying. 

“Then we’ll eat at the center with her, I’ll just need to check the menu because Creator knows if I stuff anymore calories into my diet I’m going to meet him sooner than I would like.” Hank opens the book and flips through it. “Next week good for you?”

Next week, next week she’ll only have three weeks left to live. 

“Yeah, yeah,” He says quietly, to himself, and takes a step away from the bright lights of Hank’s room, “I gotta, I- Goodnight.” 

Hank looks up again, his eyes shimmering in the overhead fluorescents. “Try to get some sleep, Gav, and if you need to talk, my room is always open.” 

“We aren’t allowed outside of our rooms after hours, Father Anderson,” Gavin attempts to joke, to put on a face that hides the drowning of his heart. 

“Our Creator forgive me in advance.” Hank smirks, “Fuck the rules, son.”

Gavin against all odds feel the tightness build even more, wetness shimmering at the surfaces of his waterline. He can barely breath without every intake skipping just a bit. “Thank you.” And he shuts the door before the emotions can get the better of him.

Memories of last night beat at his head as Gavin moves silently through the quiet chapel. It’s nearing night, meaning most are studying in their quarters are preparing for the lock down not long from now.

His feet creak on each step, Gavin uncaring at the noise he makes on his way up the steps - so very different from last night. 

Last night he had stolen from his church, and the guilt has been eating him away on the inside ever since. 

Gavin had met the people that money mattered too, the deacons that live under the leaking roof complain daily at breakfast of their soaking pillow and pajama shirts, but there is simply no where to put them other than that spot. It makes them sick, and makes them so unhappy, and Gavin had taken away at chance at keeping them warm. 

It hits Gavin as he steps upstairs, entering the priest quarters with the great clock at the end of the hall chiming by his head, a powerful punch to his stomach so hard it almost cripples him to the wall. Gavin had stolen from his church, and the next day, his sister had been given a death sentence. 

Gavin had committed a sin, and now his sister would pay the price for what he had done. 

Gavin killed her. 

This was all his fault. 

Tears return immediately, escaping down his face as Gavin hurries down the hall, hiding his face inside of his arm. The door slams behind him, something he knows he will be in trouble for later but can’t bring himself to care at the moment.

Inside his room is the basic one of a priest at the church, a single twin bed with white bedding, standing wardrobe taller than himself, a desk for writings and literacies. Gavin has snuck a few books into the drawers, things he should not be putting his expertise in but can’t help the guilty pleasure from time to time. Books like Gulliver's Travels and 1984. On the bed is a single quilt, contrasting the brown satchel on top, the quilt was his mother - the last thing he has of her and his father. It’s blue and green dotted with flowers and triangle shapes. Gavin takes a piece in hand, his sister has the other one, orange and yellow, Gavin will have to take it back after she-

Wait, why is his fucking satchel back here?

Gavin jerks back from the bed, stumbling and collapsing into the door hard, hitting it hard enough to send his head spinning.

This isn’t possible, no way, he had thrown the thing in the garbage, how can it be here now? 

Heat encompasses him, a sudden weight wrapping around his chest and shoving him off his flat feet, tipping him against the unmistakable feeling of a body against his back. Arms are around his chest, holding him pinned to the body behind.

Gavin attempts to throw his hands back, to fight his assailant in any way possible. Instead a softness presses to his ear, stilling him completely as he shudders against the uncomfortable feeling of air against his concha. 

“I suggest you don’t scream, Father, or the entire of the church will know what we know about that little bag,” A deep, warm voice, something familiar, something Gavin has heard before, though he can’t place it in the frenzy of adrenaline his brain festers inside. 

At last Gavin is let go, made to stumble into his wooden desk chair and allow it to creak under his weight. Finally he can look up and face the attacker head on. 

“Niles,” the word slips out in harmony with his surprise. “W-Why a-” He is cut off by Niles’s laughter, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed, that stupid signature blue jacket snug around his shoulders. 

“Why do you think, Father Reed? That I’m a stalker? A murder? Crazy? Or is it something else, something you don’t want to admit, even to yourself?” Nines leans against the wardrobe and watches Gavin with a severity that screams ‘try to make it to that door and you won’t stand a chance.’

Gavin’s heart is racing inside of his stagnant chest, he struggles to think let alone process the situation. His instincts are screaming, you’re in danger, you’re in danger, you’re in danger, run, run, run but he is trapped with nowhere to run to and no way to escape. Niles is a madman, some crazy stalker who is taking everything to damn far, Gavin is going to die here, oh Creator, please no.

Or he’s something else, Gavin’s mind attempts to feed into Niles’s insane made up ideas, he could be a-

But that’s not possible, that’s not how things happen in real life, on this plain of existence.

“Oh, but why not, Gavin?” Niles tilts his head to the side, a smirk perpetually playing on his face.

Gavin? He had heard that before, heard his voice, “At the shop, you said my name.” Gavin spits out, dumbfounded, how had he not noticed, how had he not gotten the dots before this. He’s an idiot. 

“You aren’t an idiot,” Niles steps closer and Gavin recoils. His feet scramble trying to get himself away from the sudden approach, he gasps as Niles’s clamps his hand down on the back of Gavin’s chair to keep him in place. They are in close proximity, enough for Gavin to begin to fear, to wonder if there’s a concealed weapon, to wonder if he is going to die in this position, bleeding out, in pain. “You were just a human, hiding your primitive brain from what you know to be the truth. Because you didn’t want to accept monsters live anywhere outside of your own worst fears.” 

“You’re insane, you need help, let me take you to the hospi-” 

“Goddamnit Gavin,” Niles slams his hand into the chair heard enough to have it creak in protest. 

Gavin is stunned into silence both from a static fear and the swear perking his ears, “You would say that in the church,” He whimpers out, memories of his own childhood playing back in his mind. If he had sworn like that, in church, he wouldn’t if he wanted to survive another night.

“You really are hiding yourself from the truth this much?” Niles leans away, incredulous. He is quick to hide the look and adjust himself, leaning on Gavin’s desk with the legs pressed together. “You’ve seen me four times today, at the wedding, the funeral, the shop, who do you think saved you and your precious money from the diocesan bishop last night? Without me, you’d be a disgrace.”

“Why? Why help me in the first place! I don’t understand!” Gavin turns, angry at the man’s constant teasing. What was he supposed to get from all that? Nothing makes any sense, his head hurts so bad. 

“As you should know I like seeing the holy men fall to their knees, give in to the primal desires of what they are, commit sins, in desperate situations. If you had gotten caught that night, we couldn’t have had any of our fun, you wouldn’t have had to be punished.” Niles stands and walks to the bed, empty the contents of Gavin’s satchel over his bed with a flourish. Money floats to the floor, crumbled bills and coins dotting the surface. 

The guilt in Gavin resurfaces once more, pinning him to his chair. “Stop it, okay? I know- I know what you are, I know, okay?” 

“Oh, and what am I then, Father?” Nines turns his head, tongue running along his teeth just enough to catch Gavin’s attention. 

This can’t be real, this isn’t happening. Gavin finally lost it, Mercy is given her death sentence and Gavin finally starts to lose his damn mind. 

“Demon,” Gavin spits out and keeps his gaze firmly on the ground - this cannot be happening. 

A cold rush of air blows against Gavin enough to ruck up his clothes and toss the chair back into the desk with a clang. Gavin calls out in fear, scrambling to stop the chair from tipping to the floor as the ice is followed by an incasing heat. 

Out of the black, hot air, a face appears, Niles, eyes pure black and unnatural on his face. Gavin presses into the desk, so desperate to put space between them, so aware of the way his stomach is exposed for any attack easily. 

  
“You finally admit it, that wasn’t that hard? Was it?” Niles smiles and in a flash his eyes bleed back to white and blue,  _ normal _ . 

“H-how are you here? You shouldn’t be able to enter the church, to survive in this place,” Gavin asks and forces himself to finally stand from the safety of his chair. He will not be shoved aside as lesser than a demon of all things, he can banish him, if he found the right book, or notified Fowler, they could somehow banish him away from this place. Right?

Niles smiles over his shoulder and sits back on top of the money to draw Gavin’s attentions back to the bills. “You, Father, your sin is what left a rip in the protections of the church, it brought me here. To punish you for what you’ve done, whatever means necessary.” His voice drops to a smooth husk then, shooting whatever resolution Gavin had cooked up in his mind with one calculated scan of the priest’s body. 

“And what happens to me? When I’m punished?” Gavin dares to ask, voice wavering. Blindly he walks a few steps back, maybe if he can get to the door he can call out, grab Fowler’s attentions. But if he does, then Niles will surely let the diocesan bishop know of the money, of what his own pupil had done. 

“Nothing much, nothing painful. Though I wanted to, a part of your personal history says that if I did hurt you, you would be too accustomed to the pain to truly learn anything of the experience. So we have to go at it another way-” He slithers closer, his movements graceful and fast. In seconds he’s pressing Gavin to the door, feet inches from each other leaving the man with no room to escape their locked gazes. 

Blindly Gavin scrambles for his chest and sighs in relief finding what he was looking for - leather chain and wood, his rosemary. 

The surprise that cripples him upon Niles touching the cross directly almost sends Gavin to his knees - there’s no way, he shouldn’t be able to do that. Oh, Gavin really messed up, truly nothing was going to stop the demon from doing- whatever it was planning on doing, really.

Niles pulls back and Gavin follows it, not wanting the clasp to break under the pressure. “Don’t!” He calls out despite himself, “It was my Uncle’s.” A pause and Niles looks down at the leather for a second before tearing it off all the way, tossing the piece to the ground with a clang.  

“Useless now,” He juxtaposes himself with a shrug, “If you will not allow for yourself to be purified in the eyes of your so holy Creator, then you should prepare yourself for a world devoid of his grace.” 

“N-no, wait!” Gavin stutters and tries to step around Niles only to be pinned to the heavy oak door by his neck, the grip not hard enough yet to cut off his air supply. “You never said, that the punishment would purify me. Does that mean it will fix, everything I’ve done? The money, my sister?” He dares to ask and squashes the brightness in his chest, no hope when in debates with a demon of all things.

Niles finally turns back to him, leaning close with his irises growing to enrapture the eyeball once more. He leans in close enough to have Gavin tensing once more, breath rushing along his cheeks. “Oh, I have some plans that could, fix your solid deeds, that is, if you are willing to do so, to right your wrongs by any means necessary.” 

“Please,” Gavin squeaks out, thoughts filled with Mercy, cold, skinny in her hospital bed. “I would do anything.”

“Anything, is a powerful word, Reed. I wouldn’t trust just anyone with that.” Niles presses a hot finger to Gavin’s cheek, running down vertically with focused eyes. “I asked myself, when we were assigned, what to do with you. Because our usual methods, the torture, the millennia of empty room, the depression, none of them work for you, because you’ve put yourself through enough of it last a lifetime. It wouldn’t work, simply, to make you bruise, since you take the liberty of doing so yourself,” Nines smiles, teeth displayed and two pointed canines obvious. 

“What will you do, then? As my punishment?” Gavin dares to ask, heart beating wildly in his ears. 

“To give you something back that matters to you, I have to take something that matters, in turn, something that you wouldn’t give up so easily,” Nines presses the hand previously on Gavin’s throat to his chest, trailing downward with their noses brushing against one another in proximity.

  
Gavin feels sick, the hand settles on his abdomen. 

“You only considered giving it up once, to the one who sang, before they killed him for what he was. And you swore it to yourself, to never let away what was his. Now, the choice is yours, and your virginity is yours to give.”

“N-no please! There must be-”

“There is no other way, Reed, You make your decisions, you have one day and I will be back, then your choice must be made.” 

Then the demon is gone in a lingering, enveloping burst of blue light hot against the priest’s skin. 


	2. Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously:
> 
> Gavin is a young priest who's lived in church all of his life, his sister falls ill with a deadly form of cancer and in desperation for money the priest steals from the church in order to pay for his treatments. This brings forth the powers of an otherworldly demon who only offers the man two simple choices, be damned to hell for his wrongdoings, or give his virginity to the being in order to be free from his sin and earn the fixings of his sister's illness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally the story was to come in three equal parts, now I have decided to post smaller bits of what I have written because I completely understand the struggles of long update times. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy regardless!!

Sleep never comes, that night, and Gavin finds himself shaking at the nearest exertion throughout the day. By the next night, he feels sick to his stomach, sitting on the hallway steps leading into the dormitories, trying not to think of what is going to happen the second he enters his bedroom. 

The muffled noises of student deacons talking inside of their rooms echoes from the downstairs dorms, the priest story above is much quieter by proxy. It comes with age, Gavin has learned throughout his constant years, you settle down, sleep earlier, grow older and older everyday. It never accorded to Gavin he was getting old until moments like this, with the younger generation having fun with their endless energies below him. Already half of his life is used up and everything is falling apart. Gavin worries, if he can’t do this, does he have the heart to start all over, alone in this world? A shudder runs down his spine, nobody has ever left him on his own, to make decisions, to move with free will. Sickness builds, for he knows he will be useless on his own out there. 

Which is why, he plans to say yes to whatever the demon wants. Not that he has much of a choice, it’s either this or eternal hatred from those he had once loved. 

So he has to say yes, and the decision has been made. 

That does not make it any easier to come to terms with, and to go through with whatever happens once he finally enters his fated bedroom. 

“Father Reed, are you feeling alright?” 

Gavin jerks at the voice and slams his eyes upward to face the speaker. He’s on the stair, books and papers stacked in his arms, haphazardly leaning against his chest in an asymmetrical pile. The priest moves out from his way and takes a few books to help ease the weight. 

“I’m sorry your Excellency, I just, rough day I guess. Don’t really want to sleep,” Gavin lies through his teeth. A bite of guilt rushes along his veins roughly, never has he lied to the diocesan bishop, never. This new world is full of poison dipped surprises. 

“I can understand that, let’s get these into my quarters and I’ll make you a hot drink.” Fowler leads Gavin down the priest’s hallway, a rich purple carpet with gold border accents line their way. A soft blue light filters from beneath the crack of Gavin’s door and it takes everything in him not to shiver at the ugly misconstruction he can imagine behind the heavy oak. 

“You know, Reverend, you remind me more of your Uncle with each passing day.” Fowler leads them up a set of stairs toward his own quarters, a room a bit larger than the priests' in order to accommodate a posh office for visits from high ranking church officials. Green wraps, fabrics, and carpet cover the room along with bright birch furnishings. The kitchen is squeezed tight in the corner, simply an oven, single cabinet and icebox all it possesses. 

“Thank you, it’s hard, to think of what he would want after missing his voice for such a long time.” Gavin admits, free to speak in the chamber as he pleases. He takes a seat in the living area, sofa and chair crowded over a small coffee table piled with books, Fowler has tossed a few letters over the top, each inked and postmarked in pristine handwriting. 

“I understand that, my own two uncles and grand uncles were all priests before me, I feel their guiding spirits, in these nights warmed by the fires of our collective, they speak in jumbled voices, each with differing ideas of the right and wrong. Your Uncle, though, always speaks the loudest. Sometimes he screams to be heard amongst the souls, and on those days I see how you were raised, your past and your future ruled by a firm hand,” Fowler speaks so softly from the kitchen, it becomes increasingly difficult for Gavin to intake his words, despite this he still gathers exactly what needs to be heard. 

And it makes his chest drop. “I’ve always felt that hand’s kindness and love, drawing me to my true purpose,” his hand attempts to settle on the ancient cross and scrambles upon finding nothing - the demon, when he broke it, Gavin could not find it in the room afterward. It makes him feel, vulnerable, like a dog out alone enveloped in the sudden crescendo of a wolf’s howl. 

“Now it is gone, and you feel lost in your best moments,” Fowler moves away from the kitchen, pot left to boil on the stove, and takes a seat in the chair beside Gavin’s sofa. Always that chair, ever since the priest was a young boy watching the two men converse over a light dinner. At his words Gavin stiffens and his Excellency is quick to pick up on the change in tune, “I and many before us have felt the same way, Reverend. I have heard the news of your sister and for that, I cannot bless you both more, you have been in my prayers since youth, and more so now than ever.”

Gavin bows his head curtly. “Thank you, your Excellency, as are you in ours.”

“I know death, changes things, my son. You question your faith, begin to wonder, tear down God inside of your mind until he is nothing but a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Rest, now” He holds a palm up to calm Gavin into untensing in his chair, heart racing. How much does he know about that night? Could he know about that night? Had God told him of a Demon entrucing on the sacred walls of his church? “If so ever you need something to remind you of his love and joys, simply look back on the happiness he has granted for your past, and for your future. And I will guide you, in your darkest moments, back to the apples of his eyes.”

Killed your parents, left you with Uncle in the past. Gave Mercy cancer in the future. Where is the joy to look back on? 

Gavin pushes the thought behind closed doors as quickly as he can, pretending with downcast eyes he never thought of such a thing in the first place. His downtrodden mind begs for  punishment, he truly is deserving of the demon, and the torture that awaits inside of his chambers. 

“Thank you, your Excellency,” Gavin has lost all knowledge of what he must say. 

The tea kettle calls out into their silence and demands attention. Fowler fixes a platter with soft accompanying sounds before setting it all on the coffee table between them. Gavin scans the room in the gap, eyes falling on a beautiful circular stained glass window above the diocesan bishop’s bed. Carved into it are angels and the Creator enveloped in a soft mix of blue lights - Fowler taps the side of his cup with a spoon, drawing Gavin’s attention back to him. 

“I am propelled to ask, and not out of misplaced sympathies and lack of empathy, but for love from myself and Himself, is there anything the church may do? To assist your sister in a healthy recovery or ease financial troubles for her -” His voice skips in a well concealed shudder “funeral?” 

Hands of cold air trail along each of Gavin’s arms and run a sharp shiver down his spine, in attempts to hide the fear scrambling inside of his chest Gavin takes a sip of the tea, it burns his tongue excrementally. Should have went into his chambers, faced the demon, somehow he knows whatever horrors lie behind are better than the sadness welling in his Uncle’s old friend’s eyes. 

In a flurry Gavin stands, cup in hand and flambles for any semblance of a reason. “I have forgotten, I must assist Father Anderson in planning for the day Bible study tomorrow morning. He asked for my help as being around children is still, hard.” 

“Take the cup, Reverend, and may peace be with you,” A flash of glimmering wet in the diocesan bishop’s eyes, and Gavin can only pray he hasn’t been seen through. Then again, nobody is around to answer prays from the likes of him anymore. 

What was once a goodbye that filled him with calm is now a dagger through his weakened heart and Gavin forces each word out to reply. “And with you sir,” His bow is nothing but a slight tilt and soon enough he pulls himself away. 

Hurrying down the stairs the creaking falls on Gavin’s deaf ears, for the buzzing of his own panic replaces the sound. Soon he’s back in the hallway and at his own chamber door where the light from before still stains the bottom crevice of the sill. 

Sickness wells in the back of his throat, muffled laughter and talking can still be heard all around him, his brain screaming to please get it over with, to end the monster of anticipation his mind creates. 

Gavin takes a deep breath. 

Inside his chambers it is silent, as if all the sound from the hallway has been sucked out, typically he’d hear something. Whatever it be a party below and the snores of his fellow priest’s bracketing his rooms. But, there is nothing. 

And, it’s empty, his shoulders relax for the first time in a long time. Followed by the lingering fear of, if the demon isn’t here, it could be anywhere. 

With a soft hand he shuts the door behind him, and the click feels unnaturally loud. It echoes in his ears and leadens his feet. 

On the desk sits a multitude of photos, each of important people in Gavin’s life, they’re faces - both smiling and lack - have been haunting him all day. 

His sister, her sweet, coy grin she once had when the world was so wide and happiness was a siphon to her heart. The picture is of her on a sunny day, her white-blonde hair a halo in the direct light of a park, her head is turned over a shoulder and Gavin smiles with an arm leant on her other shoulder. 

Tentatively the priest takes a seat accompanied by the woods whines. 

Gentle fingers brush the dust away from the glass. The sight of them so happy, unaware of what comes next, makes him want to scream. 

The world is so unfair, to those who don’t deserve it, he ponders. The priest places the photo face down on the desk, followed by the portrait set of his Uncle, young in his priest’s uniform. 

Even now he can barely stand knowing his face is there, seeing, being so damn angry at all the decision Gavin made to get him here. 

A demon, if anyone where to ever find out, forget not having any friends, they’d murder him out in public. 

Gavin finds the last frame and slaps it down without looking at the eyes of those inside the ink. His parents. 

If Fowler is truly right about our passed loved ones always being with us. Please Creator don’t let them be here tonight. 

Now with each photo pressed away Gavin allows himself a moment to breath, and to think about the severity of the situation he’s face planted into. The money is gone, the bag it once resided in tossed away into a garbage can deep inside the hospital walls. 

In the end, he had committed a sin, one that cannot be redone with simple returning, because in doing so he had spat in the face of his Creator, betrayed a trust that once ran as fruitful as the blood beneath his skin. So he deserves this, in his heart he knows he does. 

It doesn’t make the truth hurt any less. 

Against his greatest strengths, the priest finds his eyes settling on a secret spot inside of his room. 

The wardrobe, tall and wide, stares at him with an intensity enough to sap hot air. Blind feet find their way toward a forgotten path, countless attempts to forget that never truly succeeded. 

Ironic, to want to erase, but be too selfish to throw away all yourself. 

At the bottom of the closet, beneath a pile of old clothes that should be cleaned and things Gavin grew out of years ago, is a shirt. It’s the only brightly colored shirt Gavin has ever owned, blue with a picture of some techno band he’s never heard of, wrapped tight inside of the cloth is a letter. The paper is burned at the edge from the priest’s weakness in finally destroying the last tie, the once crisp white has loosened into yellow. 

The priest presses his back to the door of his chambers to ensure it cannot be opened against his wills - for the knobs lack any sort of locks for plaintive, lifelong holy men. Shouldn’t need them, why when holy men have nothing to hide? It makes him shake.

Inside, the note is a handwriting the priest will never forget, for it is burned inside of his head and heart. The note is brisk and secret, shoved into the priest’s hand in a passing brush of shoulders. 

‘Meet me in the church at 12 tonight. I have something important to tell you,’ 

No name, just in case it should ever be intercepted. 

Gavin had wanted to run that night, when the beautiful man had touched his skin and turned his mind away from all he ever knew. Dared him to dream of a better reality, rather than the one he’d built himself. 

But fate proved to not be kind to dreamers, and as soon as hope was instilled it was stoned, a lovely voice torn to shreds by an endless scream. Murdered for who he was, and who he loved, and who loved him.

Not that anyone cared. When his Uncle and Fowler found them in the chapel. Then the choir boy attempted to achieve happiness as himself then was dragged off. Then his Uncle gave Gavin a chance, a chance to redeem himself by forcing him through pain. Hot coals, knives, whips, everything awful you could ever imagine, all done by himself to himself. All to please his Creator, and his Uncle, that he had learned from his sins. Fowler had turned away, he had seen, but he could not say what had done was entirely awful or wrong. 

Never, not once had his Creator sent a demon to rectify him for his choir boy. 

_ Your Uncle oversaw. _

And Gavin shuts off that thought before it can even transcend the safety of his subconscious. 

With gentle hands he places the note back inside it’s safe place and - he can’t have the shirt follow, his throat burns as he gazes down at the name before. The boy had sung their songs with such a passion, words Gavin has long since forgot in the bellows of pain. Gavin holds the shirt to his chest, remembering the day it’d been given to him. A secret shared between the two of them. 

The priest pulls the shirt over his head in a sort of trance, his uniform peeking from above the collar regardless. He holds the shirt close to his body and moves to the bed, falling on his side with a soft groan.

‘What if I get  _ c _ aught with it?’

‘Just tell them y _ o _ ur frie _ n _ d gave it to you’ the boy smiles and walks backward fast to exit the soft gree _ n _ ery  _ o _ f thei _ r _ secret spot two miles into the woods. A warmth rushed through Gavin’s chest - a feeling he didn’t understand at the time when he needed to say it. 

He exists as a ghost in Gavin’s mind, face and body burned away to ash until all Gavin has to torture himself with is a voice and a warmth never to grace Earth again.

Gavin buries his head in the pillow in hopes it will suffocate him rather than torture him with thoughts he left behind long ago. The scars along his back burn brighter and brighter with each awful thought. He needs, something, Creator,  _ anything _ , to get his mind off of the pain it drowns inside. 

Gavin, says what he can, excuses what he can, killed someone he loved. And now he’s going to kill his sister too for what he'd stolen. 

Years ago he promised the choir boy he would wait for him, that when they ran away they would live a life together better than anything here. They would give each other everything, share what they never allowed themselves to share in the dark ceilings of the church. 

Their virginity was one of them, it was sacred for the two of them. It meant so much, they promised to consummate on the wedding night, when they could be completely free in the arms of one another. 

Now that dream is thrown to the wind, and Gavin is alone. It’s all his fault too, for drawing suspicions, not noticing he was being followed, for stealing from the church. 

And he knows he deserves it, whatever the demon may bring upon him is deserved. Death would be deserved. 

Blue light envelops the room and shines past the closed lids of Gavin’s eyes, he jerks up, ribs beaten by his racing heart. 

“That’s an unusual form of sleepwear.” The demon notes from Gavin’s side, close to his ear. 

The young priest scrambles away and puts room between their bodies. Niles is standing beside the bed, arms crossed and dressed in a black button down and black slacks. If he had a clerical white collar Gavin would have thought him just another priest. 

Gavin scrambles to pull the shirt off and hide it from the eyes of someone so - undeserving. 

Niles reaches out and grabs the forearm of the priest to stop him. “No, continue to wear it, the music is nice enough. Maybe skip the ensemble below, can’t be comfortable to sleep in.” 

“Let go of me, I’m taking it off,” Gavin shoves at the demon, panic fizzling through his arms. Niles cannot see the shirt, the thing that belongs to the person he loved so much. He pulls the material off and places it back in its hiding place beneath the clothes on the bottom of the wardrobe. The demon’s words finally register in his brain. “Why do you care what I sleep in?”

The demon sits on the bed, resting back on one hand with all the swave grace in the world. 

It makes Gavin uncomfortable, a sickness stirs inside of him at even the thought of that bed and the man atop of it.

Deserving, oh so very deserving. 

Gavin lets himself burn in the fires of his own guilt and opens the wardrobe where he takes out his sleep wear, button down shirt and long slacks. The demon's eyes watch him and Gavin shudders. In poor attempts to hide he pulls the wardrobe door open wide as it will go, now parallel to the wall providing a small space for the priest to change under disturbed. The demon huffs out a laugh. The priest changes fast and tries not to think too hard about the bed, about what comes next. 

“Tonight we will do the most human of activities, lay dormant on a bed for continuous hours and wake up with the illusion of refreshness to keep us going through the daytime hours.” The demon smirks and leans back, head rested against Gavin’s single flat pillow. With a snap of his pale fingers his clothing alters, changing into a black shirt and black sleep pants, shimmering in the light, expensive. 

Gavin buttons the front of his white sleep shirt and hides his shaking fingers over the heavy forward arch of his back. The fabric is scratchy and worn, an issued article of clothing to be worn while unconscious and nothing more. 

“Dormant? Sleep, you want us to sleep?” It makes no sense, please, just get it over with quickly. “I don’t understand.” 

Another snap and Gavin calls out sharply at the feeling of a phantom weight pulling him forward, tugging him down to sit on the edge of the bed. Arms wrap around his neck to take place of the invisible force, breath drawing goosebumps along Gavin’s skin. 

All hair stands on head, his mind moving a thousand miles an hour with closed eyes, this is it. They are sleeping, together, right now.

“You’re tense, you don’t get it,” The demon’s chest brushes against Gavin’s back and he bristles, throat dry. “We’re not sleeping together, in your sense of the word. I trust you’ve made your decision?”

“There isn’t a choice,” Gavin shoots off in a harsh tone that screams soon to be demon victim. “I have to do this, to purify, get it over with.” Softly, tacked on as an afterthought of a panicked mind. “Please.” 

“Then you’re decision has been made, lie down,” Niles pulls away from Gavin and takes the crushing weight and heat from his muscles with him. Cold air rises goosebumps on the priest’s skin following. 

With a thick swallow the priest does simply as instructed and tries to wipe the faces from his brain. They can’t see him anymore, not lain to face the desk. Maybe they were never even there in the first place. 

His back presses to the hard mattress, head leant back on the pillow and hands uselessly pressed over his stomach. 

Above Niles watches, his light eyes giving him a more focused, eery look in their blue shine. His fingers brush along Gavin’s side and he tenses rather than give into the natural shiver. “Good boy,” Niles draws and smirks. 

In a motion so smooth only an entity of ornate power may achieve it, Niles lays himself down, body settling half on top of the priest’s, leg and knee pressed on top of his leg, hand curled atop his chest. Secure. Niles’s head and hair brush against Gavin’s ear, evicting a soft gasp from the back of his throat. 

Gavin closes his eyes tight, thinking maybe he could separate himself from what’s to come, just enough to not get emotional. To not cry in front of the damned all powerful being pressed to his skin.

Moments fly past and Gavin sits in anticipation, back straight as an arrow, breath stuck inside of his throat. He was sure if the tick of a clock was present in his room, it would have drone him to insanity by this point. His hand curls into a fist at his side and the pain of nail pressed white to palm does what it can to distract. 

Another shift and Niles takes Gavin’s warped hand, prying it away from the moon shaped indents and ensnaring their fingers. 

“Wh-” Gavin can barely get a sound out before he’s being cut off. 

“I said we were sleeping together, didn’t I?” Everytime Niles talks his hair moves against Gavin’s cheek, it’s soft, and the feeling doesn’t make him nearly as uncomfortable as he wants it too. 

“I don’t get this- why? Why do this, instead of- you know,” Gavin is turning red even at the thought and every spot their bodies press together seems amplified in his brain. 

He expected the demon to be cold, why should the world be so unforgiving as to make him warm? 

“Punishment shouldn’t be something you bear yourself through-“ the demon grips Gavin’s chin with a simple hooked finger and forces levity to their gazes. “It has to be something you learn from. If you are in physical pain, you will learn to grow accustomed to it, but if you have sex, and enjoy it, then you will be mentally pained in a way one cannot get used too.” 

A shudder curls around Gavin’s spine and renders him helpless staring at the demon’s blue eyes. Bright in the middles and bubbling dark in the outer black ring. It dawns on him, then, that whatever punishment the demon delivers upon him will be nothing like that of his Uncle. The pain will be unlike all he has ever known - and it scares him to death. 

“Go to bed, it’ll do you good to get some actual sleep after last night.” Niles’s hand squeezes once around Gavin’s fingers, and his gaze shifts in favor of pressing into the mattress below. 

A cold tremor crawls along the priest’s arms. “You watched me last night?” How long has he been watched? His mind is drawn to night much darker than this one, the blue light that saved him, the same light that seems to follow the demon each step of the way. 

“I had to make sure you didn’t try anything unsavory.” Without looking the priest can decipher the demon’s smile simply from his tone. 

Gavin should ask, the thought is swimming and spinning around his head at a velocity he can’t just ignore. Yet, he’s afraid, afraid that he will somehow offend the demon and get himself hurt. 

“Ah, the mystic blue light that saved your life,” the demon suddenly whispers and Gavin tenses - wondering it he’d somehow said it aloud. “There is nowhere to hide from me, I’m in your head, your thoughts, your soul, I own you.” The demon’s breath brushes against Gavin’s shoulder with each word, warm and moist even through the sleep shirt. “The moment you took the first golden coin I emerged, drawn to your sin like a moth to molten flame. You intrigued me, for what you were doing was not of malice, but of fear. So I saved you from the church's weak punishments in the opposing path of something more - exciting.” 

Gavin can’t breathe, air stuck in the thick gel inside the base of his throat. He had been saved for this punishment in particular. 

What would he have preferred in the end? This or Fowler’s choice. The priest cuts himself off before the answer makes itself known. 

The silence between them grows, for Gavin can’t think of another thing to say. The demon had saved him, pushed him to this fate, and it’s all his own fault for allowing this all to occur. 

A soft snore cuts Gavin’s thoughts short and he half turns to see Niles’s eyes shut tight, pale skin shimmering in the flicker of the candlelight. Demon’s sleep? He wonders and with nothing else to do whilst pinned to the bed, takes careful note of the man’s many reactions. Niles’s fingers loosen their grip on the priest’s and give way to settle on his stomach instead. 

At that a spark of warmth races through Gavin, a feeling he would never allow with the man’s careful eyes on his body. Now in the freedom of closed eyes and soft snores Gavin allows himself to truly feel in the cover of the night. Even with closed eyes, Gavin can make out each finger on Niles’s hand on his stomach, twitching and adjusting every few minutes, soft breaths winding around Gavin’s face and disrupting the hair dusting his forehead. It draws goosebumps along his sensitive skin and it feels - nice. 

Nice, not a word that should be used about a demon here to punish you. Gavin feels sick just thinking about it, supposed to be absolutely soaking in hatred of giving away his promise to the boy, instead here he is, alive, enjoying a moment with somebody who is not his lover. 

Its dastardly and deserving of a pain far worse than whatever this is. Mental pain, yeah, Gavin can say that sure is working on him at the very least. 

The ceiling above it a pure white, a hanging black lantern in the center of the ceiling with a light long since burnt out, it sways in the breeze from a cracked window. The noises are still silent and Gavin wonders if he can’t hear from the inside, can somebody hear from the outside? There are no locks, anybody could enter and see him like this, with this succubus ensnaring him like a vine. 

Niles gasps in his sleep and his eyebrows furrowed together in emotion. The priest looks over to find the demon’s body adjusting once more, free hand scooting out to brush fingers against his side gently. Gavin bristles, static enveloping his side at the feeling of warmth through his pajama shirt. Suddenly, the priest is very aware of the knee pressed to the top of his thigh, weight settled fully upon his leg. 

This moment, it's so dangerous in a way that is almost exciting. Left alone with his own thoughts Gavin can feel the rapid beating of his heart, in the safety of his own mind things begin to fester, ideas and scenarios with which one should not be feeling inside these sacred walls. 

Not like he hasn’t done things like this before, when he was younger, curious and less afraid of the scrutiny of his Creator above. It’s a natural thing to explore something new that occurs in your body during puberty. But long ago to be a priest Gavin had to swear away ever allotting himself the idea again. Now the demon is here, and the only way to purify a sin is to suffer through another broken bind. 

For a passing moment he thinks about it, about what they have to do, or rather what he has to go through. 

The press of Niles’s head to his neck is much more sensitive than it was once before. How exactly are they going to do this? Is Gavin going to touch Niles’s dick? 

That thought should be revolting - but its not. A rush of heed runs through his stomach and Gavin can feel his cheeks burning in equal parts embarrassment and arousal. Will he get fucked by the man, suck his dick, jerk him off? There are so many possibilities that dance around his mind at hyper speed. 

It’s hard to deny that the man asleep on him is beautiful, his skin is fair and face soft with inviting features. The hair in front of his forehead is long and whispering against his eyelids. The hand against Gavin’s chest is warm, and he wonders how far that warmth would go. 

His body is reacting in a way that only feels comfortable seeing as the priest cannot see an inch in front of his head this night, all he can feel is the mattress and the man pressed to his chest. If he closes his eyes and focuses, he can put them anywhere else but in this church, on the same wing Hank lives on, a floor below Fowler. 

With that imaginative in mind he puts them in a quiet house, the window cracked and frogs croaking into the quiet night to attract their own lovers. And in this scenario the man against him can be his husband, somebody he loves very dearly, his choir boy breathing soft air against his neck and hand ensnaring his own. 

It makes his heart beat relocate lower in his body and Gavin bites his lip, eyes still closed tight and reaches out with his fingers again to hold the man’s own. It rips the air from his dry throat, the warm hand on his own, holding on with a soft grip. His lower body begins to pulsate with blood, thick arousal churning his brain. Even just this, it’s so much more than he has ever felt in his life, a close embrace, a beating heart against the arm not trapped in their hands embrace. Gavin can’t recall ever being hugged before, let alone pressed so intimately with another person. 

The fact of the matter is it’s nice, so nice that it sends a frenzy of sparks along his abdomen, soft light dancing inside of his lower body and sprouting an ache underneath his skin. He can imagine it, the man and him sharing a bed, becoming intimate in that way they have already begun to roll downhill toward - no stopping now. 

Gavin thinks about adjusting and thrills vibrate inside of his lowest regions, if he were to move just an inch he could press his hard self into the man’s thighs and leg. The thought makes his penis’s head ache and his legs quiver in intensities. He imagines the man’s soft lips curled into a gentle ‘o’ shape, his eyebrows clenched to one another in a myriad of pleasures. The idea in his mind Gavin succumbs to the hardness straining his pants and pressed against his sweaty thigh, his free hand once pressed along Niles’s stomach snakes forward gently, gentle enough so the sleeping man may not be shaken awake. 

The man lets out a little lasp in air, his breath skipping for a moment before he readjusts. Niles rolls to lean more on his own stomach, this as a result adjusts the resting of his leg and dips it further forward, resting in the soft crevice between Gavin’s legs only centimeters below the hardness in his sleep pants. 

The priest can feel the man’s ribs pressed to his own, the rise and fall of his hot stomach presses and pulls away with every intake of hair, the hard scalp of his head sneaks closer to Gavin’s neck and as a result brushes against his jaw. 

This new angle leaves room for more heat pressing against all the spaces Gavin was unaware was even cold on his body. Including more so the heat of his knee that seems to radiate against Gavin’s hardness. 

Moving his hand slowly and carefully along his stomach Gavin reaches down to where his body pulsates with an influx of blood. The moment his hand comes in contact with the soaking head his hips cant upward against his wills. In a flurry of panic the priest falls completely still, holding his breath for long passing seconds with Niles soft snoring near his ear. Once he is absolutely certain the man pressed to him has not moved Gavin squeezes their joined hands and lets a finger trail over himself in his pants.

The rush of pleasure is something Gavin has not grown accustomed to expecting, he hasn’t given into an urge like this one in years and it shorts circuits all conscious thought almost immediately. 

Even over the pants the swell of pleasure is enough to rock the air from his lungs and force a tremor along his legs. His fingers wrap around the hard warmth inside of his pants, fingers running against the head and sending his skull pressing back against the pillow. Almost subconsciously his digits rub along Niles’s on his other hand, tracing the soft knuckles and thinking about how they would feel around his hardness instead. 

His hips rock up against the soft blanket of his palm settled over his hardness that won’t cause much notice if the man on top of him decides to wake up. Still he can feel the throb of his head eliciting shivers along his spine. 

He is leaking wet heat into his underwear and bringing a storm to his abdomen. Fumbling fingers stuff inside of his pants and wraps a secure hand around his naked penis. Oh, he bites his lip hard to hold down any noises that may slip out and rubs his thumb against the leaking slit of his hardness, hips buckling into the sensitive touch. 

Bolts race along his body and it feels so good his head has started to spin on an axis, he imagines Niles’s hand wrapped around his own just like on his stomach, their intertwined fingers running up the base of his hardness. He imagines kissing Niles and the softness of his lips along with the feeling of his body pressed to Gavin’s own. 

Euphoria blows up like a balloon inside of his abdomen, anticipation finding a pleasant build as Gavin’s hand continues to run up and down his shaft in smooth motions, head leaking out to stain his sleep shirt not that he’s inclined to care in this moment. His mind runs edge in scenarios to push him over the head into his orgasm, imaging pieces of the man on top of him, lips stretched thin around his dick, tongue running so slick over his sensitive head. 

In a move unbeknownst to the man above Niles adjust once more, his fingers squeezing Gavin’s once before the leg between his cants upward to press firm against his taint. The unexpected touch to his pulsing balls sends a heedy shiver through Gavin and the tight clench of his ass at the pressure against his rim, the idea of something inside becoming much more pleasant in his haze. Sensitivities shake his hands and numb his legs, his heart beating so fast he feels like he’s floating at even the brush of Niles’s knee against the root of his hardness.

It sends him over, thick cum racing down his fingers and seeping into his pubic hair as an intoxicating rush of pleasure swamps his body. He tenses inward and inward into himself, mouth falling open silently in resort. 

Blurry moments of pleasure filled haze the heat burning in Gavin’s head finally begins to dissipate and the adrenaline pumping through his heart settles down into bone weary tiredness. 

At least he finally gets some rest, the priest resonates and tilts his head to the side, allowing an intoxicating warmth to flood his chest at the soft hair along his jawline. It’s sweet - to sleep beside someone, more so that he had previously anticipated especially considering his cuddle partner is an otherworldly demon. The heat of their body warms his own considerably and the feeling of a nose pressed to his chin clouds his mind with a sort of delicate happiness from his body finally being close to another in such a way. 

“That was fun, but you really should sleep and save your strengths for tomorrow,” The demon whispers out and Gavin shivers at the air dancing along the sensitive skins of his throat. At the comment sickness ebbs sour into his mouth, Niles snickers beside him and squeezes his hand once more - he doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the night. 

After that, despite his wishes, Gavin finds the heavy weights of sleep begin to tug his eyelids downward, heartbeat slowing to embrace the softness of his mattress, his blanket, pillow, and the man pressed so secure atop his chest. In a straight world, the priest should be upset, embarrassed, mortified even, but at this second in time he cannot find himself enough to care a mystic spell sends his eyes to flutter shut for a final time.  

With one final squeeze of their intertwined fingers the priest allows his body under the waves into the darkness. 


End file.
